Hearing the Bird Song

by DuchessTwilight

Rating: teen
Tags: Tragedy, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Equestria at War, Death, Human, Sad, Original Character
Length: 1130

A pony soldier of Buckharin's Harmonious Socialist Republic finally gets the relief he never expected, but always wished for.

[Based on the Equestria at War April Fools event for the mod The New Order: Last Days of Europe for the game Hearts of Iron 4]

Gregory was a soldier before Buckharin came and brought harmony to Sibera, and he stayed a soldier after. Even after going through ponification and seeing the world through new eyes, Gregory still hopes to hear the birds sing.

Published 2024-07-01 01:50:00 UTC
Last updated 2024-07-01 01:50:00 UTC

From the Steppes to the Trees

The rhythmic beating crunching biting snow beneath his and his comrade's hooves surrounded him like a blanket that drowned out any noise from the peaceful landscape around him. His vision scanned meanderingly across the forest, as the first rays of sun peeked through the light canopy and dispersed tree trunks. Despite how gruesomely long this trek was taking it was like they were passing by just a little too fast to see the life of the forest. Gregory swore that if his team would stop for just a moment the songs of the morning birds would be audible again.

It was times like this he remembered, despite all the new and beautiful changes Buckharin had brought, the promise of life he’d given Russia—nay, the world—Gregory was still a soldier. The temptation to stop and smell the winter pine whenever possible only grew now that he had seen the world through new, more open, eyes. It was true, what they’d said, nothing was truly the same after you became a pony. Everything was more vibrant, there was more meaning, even to this dreadful march.

This dreadful march that interrupted his thoughts as his squad carefully crossed a river bed. His squad’s sergeant, Rose Hunt, stopped the formation when she reached just high enough to peak out across the landscape before her. Gregory thought he’d heard a bird’s call, but as his ears turned to find more, they were met with silence. Only a chill breeze which wafted around in his face came to him. He stood there, in the awful cold, waiting. The long unending silence of the world emptied his thoughts, until it filled him with an old memory, a song. The song carried along the wind, pulling his memories out into the leaves which overlooked him on all sides. It was, he recalled, a song about the vast steppes, a song about the Volga. Despite how little his current environs matched the song, its droning empty noise felt like it was a recording from exactly where he was standing right now.

At the bottom of this river bed his silent compatriots all nervously awaited what was next, what they all swore to do. He looked at each of their faces. There was so much more that a pony’s face told, so much more one could gleam from them, it was like the eyes were bigger to encapsulate and conjoin their enlightened soul more fiercely to the world. And so he could see it, the eagle of freedom in each of them screaming against the cold wind which swept them back, screaming that this time they would be liberated and they would liberate others.

A fire bore in Gregory’s chest. He was still a soldier, and he remembered why. With a readiness to use it, he looked down to his rifle, checking over it to make sure it was ready, that not a scratch would come between him and the loosing of the ammunition his dedicated friends of the revolution had made for him. His breathing grew heavier, as he looked up to Rose. She was looking at her left forehoof, observing the watch she wore tick down the seconds. Gregory noticed everypony else was looking to her as well.

Long, excruciating minutes passed. Gregory wished it would all start, or all end, all ready. This time was time unspent, stolen, and filled with a cursed panic at nothing. He couldn’t relax, he couldn’t take a minute to sit down, he couldn’t slow his breathing, he couldn’t hear the birds. All he could hear was the song of freedom, the droning empty steppe.

“Two minutes,” Rose whispered so loudly that Gregory thought a grenade went off.

Everypony shifted uncomfortably, dragging themselves up to the ridge of the river bed that Rose rested against. Gregory could no longer see the entirety of his squad, but only his comrades immediately beside him. Natailia to his left and Blue to his right. The thought of the sudden changes in naming convention which had led to those two names was far from his mind. The lightly snow covered bank pressed against his uniform covered chest as he laid down, bringing his rifle forward. Natailia looked from left to right, she stood upright, her gaze slowly scanned over the line of ponies to her sides. She closed her eyes and brought her head down nearly into the snow. Gregory recalled that she had no combat experience, this would be her first time. He looked over to his right and saw Blue give him a side eye as he did so, before returning his gaze to keep lookout in front of him. Gregory followed to do the same, his eyes moving left and right across the scene of basically nothing that they could see, but just over this ridge he knew was the enemy.

The same song had replayed for probably the thirtieth time in his head. The wait was always the worst.

The wait for a better life, for the promise to come to fruition, for the pain to stop. Being a pony had made all of that better, but he still lived in a sick world, a world full of national socialism and humans who did not understand there was something better, that they didn’t have to fight. And yet he fought.

“Go!,” Rose snapped, her voice just barely louder than a mouse, and the moment was gone just as quick as one.

Wind rushed past his face, the crunch of snow pounded by the hooves of his squad and others he knew were stepping off at this very same moment. His rifle in its sling bounced against his chest as he ran and ran and ran. Suddenly, too suddenly for it to seem real, he was before the enemy trench. He saw one. He stood up on his hind legs. He raised his rifle in his forehooves.

***

The snow was gone, the wind in his ears was gentle, the bright green plains stretched far off into the horizon meeting with beautiful blue mountains, illuminated in the mid-day sun. He fell forward onto all four hooves, and felt the grass tickle against his fur, as his mane, now free from his helmet, was swept in the wind. He looked down and he was completely bare. He couldn’t bring himself to move, only able to stare at what was just before him. There was a tree line nearby. His ears perked up, as he heard the birds sing their song of peace.

He cried.

Author's Note

That's all, just something I thought up when listening to the Red Army Choir's cover of "Oh My Vast Steppe" after playing the april fools EAW crossover for TNO.